Chapter Two
It was late, well after eleven o'clock and Nancy and Bess were in the bedroom.
Bess turned down the sheets and bedspread and fluffed the pillows. "Which side do you want?"
"This side," Nancy said and indicated the right side. From there she had a partial view of the kitchen and dining through an arched doorway. No door separated the bedroom from the living spaces, just an arched doorway.
Both women climbed into bed and Bess turned off the bedside lamp. She arranged the covers around herself then reached over and squeezed her friend's hand. "Thanks for coming, Nancy. I can't tell you how glad I am that you're here. This … this … means a lot to me. Lately, I've been going a little crazy."
Nancy returned the squeeze. "I'll always be here for you, Bess. You know that."
Bess grinned. "A friend in need, is a friend in deed."
Both women laughed. Perhaps too loud and too hard.
"Let's get some sleep," Nancy said as their giggles subsided. She was tired, very tired. She'd worked a full day at her private investigation office completing a case. Then she'd driven two hours to get to Bess' apartment on the northern outskirts of Chicago.
"Yes," Bess said in a sleepy voice. She hadn't slept well in several nights and was looking forward to a good night's sleep. She had her friend near. A private eye. A good detective. What could possibly go wrong?
That which could go wrong, did at two a.m. A tremendous crash in the living room jerked both women awake.
Nancy sprang out of bed first. "The living room," she said and crept to the arched doorway.
Bess slipped out of bed and followed behind her friend.
Nancy peered into the dark living area. Bess searched the wall for the light switch, found it, and switched it on. Nancy's eyes went to the shelf with the doll.
It sat there, on the shelf, its hands in its lap. It looked majestic. Serene and calm. Nancy did not think the doll had been in that position when she and Bess went to bed. Nancy thought the doll had been slumped against the wall, sort of sprawled on the shelf. Now, it appeared upright and firm. Nancy almost thought the doll's posture said, look what I've done. I own this room.
"My figurine," Bess cried. It lay broken on the computer desk below the shelves.
Nancy saw the figurine, too.
"The doll," Bess whispered and pointed. "She's in a different position."
Nancy nodded. "I noticed." She would not share her thoughts with Bess. Nancy did not want to give into the directions her thoughts had taken. Instead, she said, "Perhaps your neighbor has company. Perhaps, things got out of hand."
The women tiptoed close to the wall and listened. Strained their ears. Was the neighbor partying? No, not a single sound came from his side. Everything was as quiet as a grave.
"See?" Bess said. "This is what I was telling you. Strange happenings with no viable explanation."
"Yes," Nancy admitted. "It is very odd." She checked the shelves, how they were attached to the wall. Had something come loose? No, everything was firmly attached.
How, indeed, had that figurine fallen from a perfectly good shelf?
Bess picked up the broken figurine, a statue of a fairy. An old boyfriend had given it to her. A souvenir of a trip they'd taken together. The boyfriend was long gone, but she'd kept the figurine. Liked it. Cherished the memories. Hated to see it in pieces. Wings shattered and the head snapped off at the neck.
Bess held the pieces in her hands. "This was special to me."
Nancy's gaze shifted from the doll to Bess. "Can you fix it?"
"No." Bess eyed the doll suspiciously. Had the doll done this? Pushed the figurine off the shelf? But how could it? The figurine was heavy compared to the rag doll.
"I'm sorry," Nancy said and helped Bess put the broken pieces in a plastic bag. Maybe they could be glued together.
The women went back to bed. Both were unnerved.
Nancy lay in bed and listened to the quiet. It was an eerie quiet that seemed to fill all the air in the room, to taint it with an unspoken hate … or anger. "I don't understand," she said. "It doesn't make sense."
"I know," Bess said. She was somewhat accustomed to these nightly happenings as strange and unnerving as they were. But this was different. This had been an attack on Bess personally, upon something she held dear. The figurine. Had the doll known Bess liked it? That it was special to her?
A/N: Agatha Christie was born on September 15, 1890. She wrote more than 60 detective novels, 14 short story collections, and 6 romance novels. One of my personal favorites is her novel "Endless Night." It is said to be one of Christie's favorites, too. The novel does not feature any of Christie's usual detectives and is quite atmospheric. If you've read most of Christie's work, you might guess the ending as I did. That however, did not diminish my enjoyment.